


Villains

by saucy5sauce



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: #Allison and Isaac make out and play with guns, #Liam is in a love triangle of some sort with Stiles and Scott, #Malia discovers girls, #Scott is the one who notices Stiles’ shift to the dark side, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucy5sauce/pseuds/saucy5sauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles has a mother, and she’s completely evil. And it’s up to Derek to make him renounce life as a super villain-- which is much more fun, honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. she who didn’t die

**Author's Note:**

> So basically after watching too many episodes of Once Upon a Time in a row, I said to my friend "I really wish I was a super villain" and this was born.
> 
> Enjoy conflict and UST and fluff and way too many werewolves! (how do you like your werewolves? shirtless and shaved, thank you very much.)

# * one * she who didn’t die

Stiles kept thinking that his life couldn’t possibly get stranger. He had just ditched school (without Scott by his side or some evil monster to fight) and was about to meet his birth mother in a requested secret location with a black car complete with tinted windows.

“Is this all necessary?” Stiles asked the screen that isolated him in the back of the town car. It reminded him of the times that he had sat in the back part of his dad’s cop car and pretended to be a criminal. Which of course reminded him of his dad.

If it hadn’t been for the unknown number that kept calling him, and the curiosity that made him answer, he never would have known.

When Stiles answered the number, there had been a comforting voice that informed him that his mother was not dead. His father had apparently lied, and if Stiles wanted to know the truth, he should press 1.

That led to a real person, someone who claimed to be his mother.

“I can prove it,” the shrill voice had said. “There is so much I want to show you, son. You were my only child, and I was so happy to learn that you were alive.”

“Alive?” Stiles had said. “Why wouldn’t I be alive?”

“That is what you should be asking me,” the woman laughed. “We have so much in common.”

Stiles felt like he was having some sort of out of body experience, because this really couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be talking to his mom on the phone, and she couldn’t be telling him that until they met, he would have to keep his new knowledge a secret.

“After we meet,” she had said, “I will be able to explain more.”

So far, he was pretty sure that he was in the car alone. After saying “anyone there?” countless times, he started humming that stupidly popular song that was stuck in his head. No one told him to shut up, so he figured that no one else was there (even Scott tells him to shut up and threatens him when it comes to humming).

Then there was a knock at the door. Stiles found himself holding his breath anxiously.

The door swung open and there she was. His mother was wearing six-inch black high heels and layers of red lipstick that were exactly the same shade as blood. She was holding a white cat in her arms that almost blended in to her white dress and white shawl. The cat was purring, its amber eyes fixed on Stiles.

“Hello,” his mother said. The cat purred louder at the sound of her voice.

She did not ask permission to sit down, just motioned for Stiles to move over and took her seat. When she did, he noticed that she had perfect posture and was trying not to smile.

“Seeing you,” she said, “it’s surreal. But of course, I can tell reality from everything else.” She put the hand that wasn’t stroking the cat over her mouth, and held back a laugh, as if she had just told a joke.

“Yeah, well I can’t believe you’re real,” Stiles mumbled. “My mother died,” he explained. “I was there.”

The lady across from him sighed from annoyance, for she really was his birth mom. “I died,” she said with a flick of her hand, waving it away, “because it was convenient. Your father helped with the paperwork, helped me disappear. But he was supposed to tell you that it wasn’t true, tell you that we could communicate and that I would reappear-- though not in the form you remember. He didn’t.”

“Why-- why would you need to die?” Stiles said, because that seemed like the most pressing question.

His mother didn’t think it was. She kept muttering “He couldn’t just follow the plan. Had to keep you away from me, keep you for himself.”

“Why would someone need to die?” Stiles repeated.

“Because, darling, it is the best way to also kill your enemies. They think they’ve won, think that they can stop fighting.”

Stiles nodded, understanding. He can starting the get the sense that his mother was like so many other in Beacon Hills-- not completely human, though he had no idea what she was.

He thought back to her explanation. She said that his father was supposed to tell him… tell him that she was reappear but not in the form that he would remember.

“Is that why you don’t look like her?” he asked.

The cat was yawning and settling into the woman’s lap for a nap. “Like you remember,” she said. “But I am her. Stiles, I am your mother.” She tilted her head. “Don’t you believe me?”

All of a sudden, Stiles’ head was filled with what must be memories. Someone putting things into a big pot in the kitchen, giving him a little taste of the concoction that made his head spin. Someone reading him a bedtime story about the evil stepmother with a happily ever after. Someone teaching him to get back at bullies, while his father shook his head and sighed. Someone kissing his forehead and sending warmth to his head.

She didn’t look like the woman in front of him, but Stiles knew that she was. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just said “wow.”

“Please tap on the glass partition, darling,” his mother said.

“Sure,” Stiles responded, doing as she asked. (He still wasn’t sure what to call her, even in his thoughts).

“Mother will work,” the woman spoke.

“How did yo-”

“No time for questions,” she hushed him. “We are already late.”

“Late? Where are you taking me?”

She put a hand on his leg. “You mean, where are we going? Watch your words.”

“I won’t,” Stiles spoke up. The car was moving, and he tried to look out the window. It immediately became tinted so he couldn’t even see out. “I have to be home for dinner, have to go to a lacrosse game.”

“Sports,” his mother grimaced. “Family dinners. You really must learn to focus on other things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re my son,” she stated. “You will come and live with me. I have a huge palace, not too far from here.”

“I don’t want to live with you,” he said. “I don’t really know you. You just showed up after years!”

“You can’t exactly be my sidekick if you live with that stupid father of yours.”

That was it-- she had insulted his dad. Their relationship might be strained sometimes, but it was filled with love and caring for each other. Other than Scott, his dad was really the only person Stiles could depend on. And this lady sitting in front of him and making him feel confused-- she could not be trusted.

Stiles reached for the door handle, but it was locked.

“Child lock,” his mother explained, shaking her head slowly. “You’re better than that, Stiles.”

So he punched the window. Which did not work as well as he thought it would; the glass didn’t even dent, and it made his hand hurt like hell.

“Shit shit shit,” he said, holding his hand.

“Don’t use your hand!” his mother yelled, grabbing a hold of the hurt hand. “Use your mind,” she hissed. Her fingers covered the swollen hand, and the pain receded.

“What are you?” Stiles whispered.

“No more questions.” Her sharp tone woke the cat up, who was still in her lap. He stretched and she calmed with with one hand on his paw.

“Let me leave.”

“None of that either,” she said.

“It’s not up to you,” Stiles said, reaching for his phone. If he needed to call Scott to get him out of this, so be it.

“But it is.”

One wave of her hand, her blood red nails flashing by Stiles’ face, and a TV screen descended from the ceiling.

“The video is live,” she said casually,  trying not to watch her son’s face as he watched the screen.

Derek, tied to a chair. Derek, screaming and producing fangs. Derek, being overtaken by some sort of white smoke, falling silent and unconscious. Derek, his eyes flashing light blue before they closed.

Derek, who had been screaming Stiles' name.


	2. the hostage and the mind-reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is what is most important to Stiles. Even if neither of them know it.

# * two * the hostage and the mind reader 

There was some sort of music playing in Derek’s hell, and he couldn’t turn it off. It sounded like someone was being hit by a lightning bolt over and over and an army was stomping in 2/4 time. He hated 2/4 time.

Derek could only see white. The room that he was in --at least, he assumed it was a room-- was so white that he couldn’t tell where the floor ended and the walls started, whether there was a ceiling or just white nothingness.

It was a nightmare and he wasn’t even sure if he was asleep.

There was a strange flashing and then a movie started playing in his head. Strangely enough, there was Stiles, watching a screen that showed Derek being taken from his apartment and loaded into a black car with burning red wheels. (These people really liked intense colors.) Then Stiles was screaming and so was Derek.

The white was hurting Derek’s eyes. He struggled to get out of the chair that he seemed to be tied to, but he couldn’t find any rope. Where was he? Last time he checked, there had been no mystical creature trying to kill him or the pack. The past few months had been quiet, filled with Friday movie nights with Scott and Stiles, which he was pretty sure he never agreed to, and lots of naps.

So why had someone interrupted his Monday Netflix binge to kidnap him?

A voice crackled through speakers that Derek couldn’t see. “You’re the hostage.” It was a female voice, and he didn’t recognize it at all.

“Stiles,” Derek grumbled, because of course the awkward teen was somehow involved, “Get me out of here.” 

* * *

 

Stiles was no longer trying to leave. Which was probably the point of the hostage, if he thought about it.

His mother was smiling wider than she had the whole time that they had been in the car together. She had the cat back on her lap and was stroking its ears.

“Darling,” she said, her voice laced with poison. “Say hi to Derek.”

“What is happening?” Stiles said.

“I thought you were smarter than that.” His mother made a tisk-ing sound. “We have taken your friend hostage. If you try to leave before I tell you to or tell anyone about this meeting, he will be harmed. You must swear that you will not before we release him, and I must believe you.”

“But-- he’s not my friend.”

The woman’s grin disappeared and she looked-- confused, frankly, like all of a sudden her plan was not going according to plan.

“Of course he is,” she insisted. “He is the person who is most important to you, the death that would pain you the most.”

Stiles couldn’t decide if he should go along with it. She obviously didn’t know what she was talking about, but if he mentioned Scott or his dad, they might become hostages.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “So what do I have to do?”

“Swear. Swear on this hideous werewolf’s life.”

“He’s not hideous,” Stiles said automatically.

His mother raised both of her eyebrows. “I see how he is important to you. How strange.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“We didn’t hold a girl hostage,” she explained. “It tells a lot about you.”

“You know nothing about me,” Stiles growled. (He really had been hanging around werewolves too often.)

“If you aren’t going to trust me because I’m your fucking mother,” she swore, “Trust me because I know things.”

“Not about the son that you haven’t seen in years,” he muttered under his breath.

“About everyone!” She was insulted and would battle ruthlessly until he trusted her. (Because she really did know lots of things.) “Stiles, you’re not a complete idiot; we share the same genes. Use your mind.”

He thought it was strange, how she said ‘mind’ instead of ‘brain’. But then again, what _wasn’t_ strange about her?

“I can read minds,” she said. Which was of course, very very fucking strange, especially because he believed her.

Did that mean Derek really was the most important to him? She had mentioned how his death would be the most painful… Stiles tried to imagine that. They had thought that Derek was dead a few times, so it wasn’t very hard to do.

Those actually had been really bad days for Stiles. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he had forgotten to do something, that he was too late. Regret had filled his dreams and when he woke up, he found himself crying.

“Let him go,” Stiles said.

“The anger in your eyes!” his mother laughed. “I love it! You look just like me,” she clapped her hands together.

Stiles was 95% sure that he should not take that as a compliment. But he also had gone too long without a mother, and having someone look at him with pride and tell him that he was like her-- it did something to him. At that moment, he really didn’t want to get out of the car and never see her again. He didn’t want to tell his dad why he had skipped school and who he had met, because then Stiles wouldn’t be able to see his mom again.

“When can we meet again?” he found himself saying.

“Promise first, Stiles,” she said, taking her hand off the cat to reach for his. Her fingers were warmer than he expected and her grip was firm yet soothing, literally a mother’s touch.

“I promise,” he said.

“Good.” She squeezed his hand, then let go of it suddenly. “Do not disappoint me.”

He didn’t ask what she meant by that. “When can I see you again?” he said instead, leaning forward.

His mother shrugged. “I will be in contact.”

Stiles couldn’t remember her speaking in riddles before, but then again, he couldn’t remember much of anything about the time before she left.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, ignoring the fact that he sounded like a cheesy, desperate boyfriend.

His mother nodded sharply, and the car stopped.

When Stiles tried the door, it swung open. He was outside Derek’s apartment building.

“Bye, Mom,” he said, looking back at her.

His mother didn’t respond, and when he got out of the car and looked back, it was gone.

Stiles sighed. None of it felt real now. Even though he had promised, he imagined telling Scott everything that had just happened. He was pretty sure that his best friend would believe him, but not easily. It already felt too complicated, especially since Derek was involved. Whenever that happened, Stiles got more nervous, like the stakes had risen.

Oh, shit. Derek.

His mom had just held Derek hostage. Briefly, but still. The sourwolf was going to rip him a new one.

* * *

 

Derek had been blinking, trying to get the white to go away. And then it did.

Suddenly, he was back in his barely-furnished kitchen, a cup of steaming hot tea in front of him. He must be imagining it, but he would swear that he saw the steam form the word “oops”, and then swirl into a menacing A.

“Allison?” Derek whispered. But no, the teen had just gotten out of the hospital after almost being killed by Nogistune. She was always surrounded by someone-- her dad, Isaac, Lydia and even Scott. She wouldn’t have had time to turn evil.

He wasn’t sure who or what the A stood for. And he had no idea why Stiles was involved instead of Scott.

Derek thought about finding the beastiary to look it up. Hell, he thought about just trying to google it. Then he thought about going to sleep or resuming his episode of Bones on Netflix. After all, it was Monday, and no one ever does anything productive on Monday.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you comment something I'll call real-life-puppy Tyler Posey and send him to give you a hug ^.^  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. three days and a potential threesome later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days and a potential threesome later... Stiles shows up at Derek's apartment with flowers. Standard protocol for a mother-hostage-situation, right?

# * three * three days and a potential threesome later

TUESDAY

Stiles woke up in the middle of the night to find that he had dialed Derek’s number on his phone. Stupid sleepwalking. He pretended it didn’t mean anything, and ended up playing Tetris all night when he can’t fall asleep again.

He only got through the day because Scott and Lydia were in all of his classes, and they took turns throwing things at him every time he started to fall asleep.

After school, he watched lacrosse practice from the bench and realized that Coach’s voice is the best way to prevent sleep. He was glad; ever since Monday, he hadn’t been able to stop dreaming about the sourwolf.

 

WEDNESDAY

Derek watched the rain from his window and considered the pros and cons of asking Peter about AA.

Pro: He might know what it was.

Con: He might refuse to tell Derek.

Pro: Maybe he had gotten over his evil, power-hungry streak.

Con: He probably hadn’t.

Pro: Family bonding. Could be healthy. Could make the apartment less lonely. Could plan something for Christmas.

Con: Peter might try to kill him.

Derek decided to wait a while longer to make a decision. He stalked Stiles on Facebook for clues. (Not that Derek had a Facebook. He had just hacked Liam’s account for stalking purposes.)

The rain was steady and he wondered if it would ever stop.

 

THURSDAY

Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about his mother. He had already written down everything he remembered about her on post-its and compared it to notes on their conversation Monday. He thought about adding her to his board with all of the red string, but he wasn’t sure if that was against the rules about not telling anyone. Also, he couldn’t bring himself to write Mom on either color note card (white meant good and pink meant enemy-- he had limited color choices).

He also couldn’t stop thinking about how she said that she would be in contact. Last time she left, it took her years to find him. Or maybe she knew where he was. That was even worse.

When he stopped thinking about his mom, he invited Scott over and tried to get his best friend to stop thinking about Allison.

“What about Kira?” Stiles asked, “I thought you said she was cute.”

“She has a crush on Malia,” Scott said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty obvious. She came and asked me advice on what to buy her for Christmas.”

“We’re giving gifts? Shit,” Stiles said.

“The point is,” Scott said. “I am never going to get over Allison. And even if we can’t be together, does that mean Isaac can? It’s not like he’s not a werewolf.” He sighed. “I am being horrible. I take it back.”

“No you don’t.” Stiles tossed a lacrosse ball in the air and caught it. “Your problem is not with you. It’s with him.”

“No it’s not.”

“If I was trying to get with Allison, that would not be your shit or her shit. That would be my own fault.”

“You wouldn’t do that though,” Scott shook his head.

“Of course I wouldn’t. And he shouldn’t.” Stiles tossed him the ball. “Think fast.”

Of course, that game was not as much fun with Scott, true Alpha werewolf than it had been with human, teenage Scott.

“What can I do?” Scott moaned, tossing the ball back to Stiles, who missed it and had to go looking under his bed.

“I can only think of one option where everyone wins. But I’m not going to say it.”

Scott threw the ball at Stiles. It perfectly missed his face by inches.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

Stiles laughed at his best friend’s determined face, the same that he used in fights.

“You’re not my Alpha, you know,” Stiles said. “You can’t command me to do things.”

“You are officially not invited over for Christmas.”

“Awh, but your mother loves me. And it’s not like my dad has anyone else inviting us over…”

“Then tell me the thing.”

“The only solution I can see… is a threesome. That way Allison and Isaac get what they want and you get to not feel excluded.”

Scott shoved him off the bed. “That’s the worst idea ever.”

“I know!”

 

FRIDAY

When school got out, all of the girls around Stiles’ locker started hugging for no reason other than the fact that it was the weekend and that winter break was getting closer and closer.

Stiles shoved his way through them, ignoring Malia and Kira, who were both trying to wave to him. Scott frowned when he walked past him, too, but Stiles didn’t have time to waist. After three days of procrastination, he was finally going to see Derek. And apologize. 

He stopped by a flower store on his way there, mostly because it really was right on the way. And when he briefly chickened out and went home, he found some champagne his dad probably wouldn’t miss.

Stiles regretted the flowers and champagne the minute that Derek opened the door. The werewolf just raised his eyebrows and said, "Oh. Hi, Stiles. I see you're unpredictable, as always."

"Can I come in?" Stiles asked.

Okay, so what if Derek probably already thought that he was there with  _flowers and fucking champagne_  for personal reasons? After that line, he definitely did.

Derek turned his back and walked into his apartment. Stiles followed awkwardly. It was colder inside than in the rest of the building, as always. He wished he had a sweater. He wondered what kinds of sweaters Derek wore, if someone gave him ugly Christmas sweaters every year. Probably not, since Peter was kind of his only family. And Peter was more likely to literally stab you with a knife.

"Is that for me?" Derek said, his back still to Stiles as he rooted around in his kitchen for something.

"What?"

Derek turned around. "The champagne and flowers," he said seriously.

"Shit." Stiles' plan had been to throw them out the window when he got a chance and hope that Derek hadn't noticed them. 

"What?"

"Um, yeah," Stiles said, holding the flowers out. "They are."

"Great. Roses, my favorite."

Stiles couldn't tell if Derek was kidding or not. "They were out of everything else. Pretty bad flower shop, actually."

"And where did you get the champagne?" Derek pushed two wine glasses toward Stiles.

"My dad's liqueur cabinet. Hope he doesn't arrest me."

And Derek laughed. Which encouraged Stiles, so he kept going.

"You'd break me out of jail, right?" he asked Derek. The former-Alpha just chuckled.

"You wish," he said, and then he raised his head to meet Stiles' eyes. "Why are you here, Stiles?"

"To apologize. I know I'm late and it wasn't technically my fault, but my mom did kidnap you and hold you hostage. So, yeah..."

"AA is your mom?"

"Who?"

Derek shook his head. So Stiles really didn't know anything. "Never mind. Let's drink this champagne."

"I drove here. I can't get drunk." For some reason, those facts were making Stiles really sad. And Derek was frowning-- more than usual, that is.

"You can't buy me wine and make me drink it alone." Derek popped the cork somehow (with his hands? Stiles would have to ask him later.)

"Technically, I didn't buy it. I stole it."

"I don't care. Drink. I have an extra bedroom. Don't drive home tonight."

Why Derek would need or have an extra bedroom, Stiles didn't know. But he could call his dad and tell him that he was staying with Scott. It would be easy, really, and it was making his heart beat slightly faster knowing that he would stay the night. Derek usually just grimaced the whole time Stiles was in his apartment.

He sat down and grabbed one of the wine glasses. "Do you accept my apology?"

"You never actually said the words  _I'm sorry_."

"Don't be ungrateful," Stiles said, taking a sip of wine. "I stole something for you. And those flowers--"

"I'm allergic to roses," Derek said. 

 _What a cockblocker_ , Stiles thought, though he wasn't sure who Derek was cockblocking.

"Sorry," Stiles said after a minute.

"About the roses?"

"No, about the hostage thing."

Derek shrugged. "Happens a lot."

"Really?"

"No." Derek couldn't hep it; he smiled. Stiles was so gullible, and the fact that he was already hiccuping after one glass was kind of adorable.

"Oh," Stiles said. "Can I have some more wine? I didn't realize how much I needed to get drunk."

"Be my guest," Derek said, and Stiles kind of smiled because that's what he was. He was already having too much fun, just looking at Derek's perfect eyebrows and trying to count the stubble on his chin.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to classic Christmas songs that were playing in the apartment across from Derek's. 

"So why did your mom kidnap me?" Derek said. He didn't like asking questions, but he was pretty sure that he deserved to know.

Stiles just shook his head and took another swig of wine. It wasn't really the most attractive (or even civilized) way to drink, but it was making Derek chuckle to himself.

 "I don't know," Stiles lied.

"Yes, you do. You just don't want to tell me." Derek shrugged. "We all have secrets."

"I don't usually," Stiles muttered. "And now I have this secret mother who is alive all of a sudden."

"Oh, shit. You didn't know before?"

"Before Monday, yeah." Stiles sighed. "I went to her funeral. I always thought it would the thing that would fuck me up inside-- the fact that my mother was dead. Then it was the fact that some werewolf or Nogistune -the monster of the week basically- was trying to kill me. And now it's the fact that she's alive."

"Alive and actively kidnapping," Derek muttered.

Stiles laughed. "Isn't that the way to do it?"

 Derek started drinking his champagne more seriously. He didn't want to worry about Stiles; he barely wanted to deal with Stiles at all. Except for when he really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, my lovely wolfies :)) More Sterek needed? More Scott maybe? Does anyone (actually) want to read about Malia? Happy I couldn't *spoilers* let Allison get killed off? Same.
> 
> oh and happy holidays !!


	4. wanting and the good kind of kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before, the morning after and the waiting. Derek wasn't sure how he was coping. And Stiles wasn't.

# * four * wanting and the good kind of kidnapping

Derek didn't totally hate all Christmas music. He knew all of the words to the good carols, like Jingle Bell Rock and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And he hadn’t tried to kill (or even threaten) the tenant who was blasting them for the whole building to hear.

He was looser, too, after drinking most of the champagne. Which meant that he was laughing at Stiles’ bad jokes and smiling at everything that was happening.

They had moved to the couch, after a long discussion in which Stiles said that he had never believed that Derek had proper furniture. The couch was too small for both of them (especially when you consider Derek’s supernatural, unhuman muscles).

In the morning, Stiles would say that it was because of the small couch, because their thighs were pressing together and he couldn’t say anything without having his face an inch from Derek’s. And Derek’s eyes were looking straight at him, and he couldn’t stop staring back.

Derek might blame it on the wine. Or how Stiles was the first person to ever show up at his door with flowers. Even if they were roses, and he couldn’t stop sneezing. The sneezing quickly became some sort of inside joke between them, with Stiles said “bless you” over and over again as Derek sneezed.

“Seriously, dude, do you need some tissues?” Stiles said. And that broke the spell, the hazy air of drunken fondness that they were bathing in. He had effectively friend-zoned Derek.

And for some reason, that was making Derek mad. There was some sort of ache in his chest, as he shook his head and tried to laugh it off.

This stupid boy, showing up and making Derek feel things. The stupid teen was making him laugh and smile like he actually liked him. Which, you know, maybe he kind of did. Why else would he be said that Stiles had friend-zoned him? 

Derek didn't want Stiles to call him sweetheart or anything ridiculous, but it would be nice if he called him something that he didn't call everyone else. Like Sourwolf, the name that had always made him so mad. Was it possible that he hadn't realized the meaning behind it?

The ache dulled slowly as Stiles stared at him. 

"You okay?" Stiles asked. And Derek wasn't, not really.

So he leaned closer to Stiles, which was almost impossible since they were so close. But there were a few inches of air between their mouths, and Derek wanted there to be now.

The second their lips touched, both boys stopped monitoring their moves so carefully. There was no hesitation as Stiles turned his body so that he was facing Derek fully, and Derek instinctively pulled Stiles onto his lap. They continued kissing, kissing and breathing heavily, hands searching each other's bodies like they were running a race.

Derek's superhuman senses picked up on Stiles' every move, and made every inch of his skin that was touching Stiles feel even more inflamed. And Derek could hear every frantic beat of Stiles' racing heart, knowing that he was the one making Stiles feel that way.

* * *

 

Stiles knew that the morning should feel more awkward. He and Derek should be tip-toeing around each other, scared to touch each other after touching too much.

But it wasn't awkward. Derek heated up cinnamon buns and Stiles woke up in the Sourwolf's bed (more proof he had insisted to see about the furniture debate). They ate on the couch again, and Stiles put his legs on top of Derek's just to see if he would get mad. (He didn't.)

Then, Derek made a big show out of throwing out the roses and Stiles found tissues in the bathroom.

Derek hadn’t stopping laughing at Stiles’ jokes. He didn’t even threaten Stiles when he promised that he was going to bring over Christmas CDs.

“I haven’t seen a Christmas movie since I was a kid,” Derek admitted. So Stiles planned a time when he could come back and bring a whole pile of them.

“It’s important,” he insisted.

“Okay,” Derek said. “I’ll see you Tuesday then.”

“Aw, are you kicking me out?”

“No,” Derek said, kind of nuzzling Stiles’ shoulder. (Everything that would have been weird yesterday was now tame motions of affection.) “You can stay as long as you want.” He was almost whispering into Stiles’ mouth now. “In fact, you’re welcome to stay the night again.”

Stiles felt like he should jump away. This was too much, too soon; any rational person would know that. But he loved the feeling of Derek’s breath on his shoulder, and the Sourwolf kept getting close enough that Stiles could pull him in for a kiss. So he did.

He didn’t have a rational explanation. It just felt right.

* * *

 

Stiles’ dad finally texted him (“when will you be home?? we need groceries”) and he finally kissed Derek goodbye. Or Derek kissed him goodbye. It was all a mess of hands and lips and wanting more and more and more.

Stiles had tried to stop thinking about Derek. But it kept proving to be a good distraction for not thinking about his mom. (And for not thinking about his math test, which he failed on Monday. But he was fine because he was one day away from seeing Derek again.)

One day later, and Stiles could barely sit still (which wasn’t unusual, but the usual reason was not a certain werewolf who was really, really good at kissing). Scott kept looking at him with his best Concerned Alpha Stare, and Liam was acting even more confused than usual when the two best friends had a sort of stare-down.

“Where are you going after school?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged, throwing his backpack over one shoulder.

“Want to come over?” Scott asked.

“No,” Stiles said too fast.

Scott raised both eyebrows. “Dude, are you okay?”

Even just the word “dude” was giving Stiles post-hookup flashbacks and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how much of a wreck he would be after today. (Actually, he could. But he was actively choosing not to.)

“Sure, sure,” Stiles said. He looked straight into Scott’s eyes. “I’m fine.”

Scott gave up. “See you tomorrow,” he said. “Hey, there isn’t any way that you’ve seen Derek, is there? He isn’t answering his phone.”

“Does he ever?”

Stiles didn’t mention that on two different nights that week, he had tried to get a hold of Derek, too (Because the reasons that he had were very different from whatever Scott’s were. Because he didn’t want Scott asking questions that Stiles couldn’t answer. Because he couldn’t admit that this was happening, couldn’t voice how it made him feel).

“Not really,” Scott said. “But you know, something bad could have happened to him.”

“I’ll check on him,” Stiles said. “I have to go into that part of town anyway.”

“Why?”

Stiles just shrugged. He couldn’t explain the wanting, the lust, the laughter to Scott. They didn’t keep secrets, but this wasn’t something that could hurt anyone. Except me, Stiles realized, and maybe Derek.

* * *

 

Derek waited all afternoon for the knocking at the door. It felt like he had been waiting longer than that, like maybe all day or all week or ever since he met Stiles. If the last was true, what was a couple more hours? (Other than painful and fucking annoying.)

Derek waited, but Stiles never showed up.

 _Maybe he’s been kidnapped and held hostage_ , Derek thought. For some reason, the image of Stiles in the white room was enough to make Derek’s legs shake.

He worked out to get rid of the worrying. And because the burning in his muscles made him feel strong, strong enough to resist having feelings for some stupid teenage human boy.

But Derek didn’t really think Stiles was stupid.

He was starting to think that maybe Stiles was everything he hadn’t known that he wanted.

 

* * *

 

Stiles actually had been kidnapped, but not in the traditional sense. He had gotten in his Jeep and started to drive to Derek’s, but an hour later found himself getting off the highway and driving down a secluded road that led to a huge mansion.

Someone was waiting for him when he pulled up. It was a handsome young man, holding out an umbrella and greeting Stiles by name.

“Where am I?” Stiles asked.

The young man said, “Home. Your mother is waiting in the front room. I’m Charles, if you need anything.”

Stiles was thinking about taking him up on that offer, but once he glanced up at the mansion, he seemed to realize that what he wanted more than anything was to talk to his mom.

He had been kidnapped and brought right where he wanted to be.

She was waiting for him in a throne of white and red pillows, the same cat curled up in a box at her feet.

“We do Christmas weekly,” she informed him, gesturing towards the cat. “Darling, you wish you knew the benefits of my money.”

 _Technically_ , Stiles thought, _I should_. Legally, he was still her son.

“Why am I here?” Stiles said.

“To see where you could live,” his mother said. “Charles will take you on a tour when you’re ready. I hope you didn’t have somewhere else to be,” she gave him a knowing look.

Stiles found that he couldn’t remember what he was thinking when he got in his car, though he was certain that he hadn’t meant to end up here.

“Also,” the woman continued, “I thought I would explain to you some of the, erm, details of my powers.”

“Powers? Like-- Superman powers?” Stiles was still standing awkwardly, and he took a quick seat in one of the chairs that surrounded his mother’s throne.

She rolled her eyes delicately. “No. Like your friend Lydia’s powers. Or Scott’s.”

“How do you know about them?”

“Darling, I know so many things, you really shouldn’t question the easy ones. I know your emotions and thoughts because I can read them. I can manipulate the thoughts in your mind like writing words into a book.”

“So,” Stiles said, “it’s like mind reading? And mind-- writing?”

“It is mind reading,” she said. “Soon enough, you will know it firsthand and it will make more sense. As my son, you will acquire a portion of my powers while I’m alive.”

“And when you’re dead?”

“You will get them all. But don’t get so power-hungry, Stiles. Realize that I can give you everything you want and more than you can imagine, if you let me. Together, we can do great things.” She was now sitting on the edge of her chair, leaning forwards to the point where Stiles was scared that she was going to fall. “Together,” she said, “we can take over the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost 2k words!! dammit, annabelle, you've done it again :S
> 
> comment if you liked it! love you all :)


	5. Stiles' hostage and his date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off: Stiles was being kidnapped and Derek was waiting.  
> Where we pick up: Same.

# * five * Stiles' hostage and his date

“Together,” Stiles’ mother said, sitting tall in her chair and intimidating world leaders (probably), “We can take over the world.”

A short sound escaped from Stiles’ mouth, a kind of laugh. He thought that she was joking. (Of course he did.) Who takes over the world, and even worse, who says that outloud?

 _She can’t be serious_ , he thought. He tried not to worry.

“Stiles,” she said, his name sounding like a threat in the mouth of the woman who should have raised him. “Trust me. This is what was supposed to happen, trust me. With your help, I will be unstoppable and we will do tremendous things.”

Stiles was weary of her use of adjectives. She didn’t behave like a hero, not like Scott or Derek. _Derek_. That was where Stiles was supposed to be, he realized.

“Oh,” was all Stiles could say.

“One week,” his mother said, standing up like she needed to claim control over the room. “You will give me one week of work. One week of living my lifestyle, to see what could be yours. If you don’t want a thousand more weeks like it, you can go back to you do-good father and his stupid badge. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Stiles said. He knew that he really didn’t have a choice, and that with her, he never would.

“Charles will give you your first assignment,” his mother said, and on cue, the handsome assistant (servant?) entered the room and handed Stiles a folder.

He tried to open it. And tried again.

“Say the words ‘I avenge the abominable’.”

Stiles did. The folder seemed to slide open. Stiles could only make out the name “Malia”. His stomach already hurt like it did when he went into a big fight, armed with only his baseball bat. He didn’t want to do anything to Malia (he’d have to read on to figure out what) but he really didn’t want to disappoint his mother and give her reason to leave, again.

“Read it later,” the woman said, and Stiles realized that almost everything she said started with a command. He was used to being told what to do by his father and Scott, but they were much more subtle about the fact that they wanted you to do something for them. His mother wasn’t subtle, period.

“When?” Stiles asked.

“When I send you back to your father. You will need to make up some excuse about some monster that you need to fight, and after tomorrow, when you aren’t at school, you will come back here. The address is programmed into your Jeep already. Right, Charles?”

Charles (whose name was actually Charles Thomas the fourth and had been blackmailed into taking this position) nodded.

“Now leave,” Stiles’ mother said to her servant. He looked confused; she usually let him sit in on all of her meetings and conversations so that she didn’t need to explain what had happened and so that he could threaten her victims. But he left.

“Is that all?” Stiles asked, hoping that she would have something else planned. (He had forgotten that he had been kidnapped and now just wanted to play a family game or do some typical mother-son bonding.)

“Yes. You can go back to your hostage now, if you want.”

“He isn’t my hostage-” Stiles started to say, but he didn’t really have any better way to describe Derek. (Was Derek his anything? Stiles hoped so.)

His mother smiled knowingly, because mind-readers really do know everything, something that was already making Stiles mad. What kind of mother knew all of your secrets? One that you trusted, maybe. But Stiles didn’t even know the lady sitting in front of him, and she was acting more like an evil mastermind than a mother.

Taking over the world, she had said. That was the only thing that could distract him from thinking about Derek, but then he started picturing the werewolf’s face when he was losing a fight. It always just about broke Stiles heart. (Everything Derek did affected his heart. _Jesus_ , had it always been so _obvious_?)

“Go,” his mother said.

“What about the tour of the house?” Stiles asked, standing up and looking around. “Where’s Charles?”

She gave him the same knowing look. “Perhaps I’ll show you around. Tomorrow though because I am really quite busy.”

Hmm, so it was because she was reading his mind ( _Derek, Derek, Derek_ , he thought) that she had sent her attractive, boy-toy assistant out of the room.

# 

***

# 

Malia looked like a coyote even when she was human, Stiles couldn’t help thinking. Something about her was still pure animal, even more than Derek.

Even when he was sitting across from Malia on a date, his every other thought was about Derek.

Derek would know when to use a fork and when to use a spoon (eating noodle soup with a spoon could not be made attractive, Stiles thought). Derek would know that on a date, you can be flirty (Malia was barely talking). He wouldn’t chew with his mouth open and hold Stiles’ hand under the table. (Well, he might do the last thing, but it wouldn’t make Stiles all sweaty and uncomfortable.)

Stiles would know how to make Derek laugh (or how to annoy him, more likely). But with Malia, everything was a guess. (She didn’t know to pretend to laugh as not to be rude, which made things awkward.)

When he wasn’t thinking about Derek, he tried to think of his mom. It was just yesterday that he left her house and that she gave him his first “assignment”. Which was to take Malia out on a good date. More details were to be supplied later, apparently. Stiles was doing this for his mom, and that was why when it came time to get the check, he paid.

Malia tried to stop him.

“I’m taking you out,” he told her, grabbing the check. “Want to go to ice cream next?”

She agreed, and Stiles worked up the courage to put his arm around her when they left. She snuggled into him and sniffed him. Animals were not good on dates, he learned. And he did not like girls.

He liked Derek. More than anyone else, at least.

But he kissed Malia before dropping her off at Scott’s house, where she was staying. He kissed her because he knew that was part of a successful date, not because he wanted to.

Malia kissed him back and wrapped her arms around him. (It felt more like he was being crushed then embraced, but he didn’t mention that.)

Stiles was more than happy to drive away. Malia was waving from her porch. It was just his luck, of course, that girls started liking him when he decided that he liked boys more.

His phone started ringing, and when he picked it up, he was more than relieved to hear that it wasn’t Malia. It was his mother.

“I am pleased,” she said.

“Just pleased?” Stiles grumbled.

“Very impressed, actually. Have you talked with your father yet?”

Stiles had, and the lies felt even worse coming out of his mouth than he thought they would. The sheriff had hugged his son tightly and made Stiles promise that he was going to be okay.

“I’m going to be more than okay,” Stiles wanted to say. “I’m going to be with my mom.” But even that felt like a lie.


	6. the always-good plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought it couldn't get any gayer.

# *six* the always-good plan

Stiles was done with girls. Malia, his mom… he got more stressed hanging out with them than he did before a lacrosse game. This is why he was best friends with Scott.

That was why he lived with his dad, he tried to tell himself. It wasn’t true, of course, but the Stilinskis always avoided talking about the real reason that they were so messed up.

The reason he lived with his dad was because his mother was dead. (Who knew that truth might be easier to accept than the alternative? Jesus, this whole situation was _beyond_ fucked up.)

Stiles knew that he couldn’t go straight to his mother’s house. ( _Straight_. Ha.) He knew that he needed to spend time with someone who was not female. (This isn't how you are supposed to feel after a date, he knew. But what if it’s a set-up by your mother to take over the world? The lines got blurrier for sure.)

Stiles needed Derek, honestly. There was no hiding that, even from himself.

There would be no hiding it from his mother, either, but Stiles didn’t really care if she knew.

Stiles didn’t knock, this time. He wasn’t sure if Derek ever locked his door, which could be dangerous if Derek wasn’t a werewolf with extremely big (and very nice) muscles.

Derek looked up from the chair that he was sitting in, at the piece of wood that he used as a table.

“Stiles?” he said. There was so much emotion (anger, lust, and worrying) packed into the one word that Stiles could barely look into Derek’s eyes. But he couldn't look away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “about now showing up on Tuesday.”

“Wow, a real apology from Stiles Stilinski,” Derek started to say.

“Shut up,” Stiles said. “I mean it.”

Derek nodded. “It’s okay. I’m sure you had better things to do.” He didn’t look very threatening, holding a cold cup of - _was that tea?_ \- and slumping over on the table.

“I didn’t,” Stiles said. “I was possessed.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. (His eyebrows, of course, the very thing that made Stiles feel things he did not ask to feel.)

“My mom,” Stiles tried to explain. He sat down in front of Derek, and watched his hands on the cup. (His hands were almost as bad as his eyebrows, honestly. It was like he was perfectly crafted to drive Stiles crazy.)

“You were possessed by your mom? Is she the devil?”

And Stiles just shrugged. “Who knows. I just got in the car, to see you-- I really wanted to see you.”

“Then why didn’t you show up?” Derek said and it was more of a sigh than a question.

“Because I was possessed by my mom!” Stiles said. He was almost shouting now, frustrated with the situation and how fucking hard it was to explain. “She can control minds, okay? And read them, and I don’t know why I’m surrounded by supernatural things all the time, but I am. And now my mom isn’t dead and she’s using me for something and I went on a date with Malia which was really, really not fun.”

“You went on a date with Malia?” Derek said when Stiles had finished rambling.

“That’s all you got from that?”

“Maybe,” Derek huffed.

“You-- you’re jealous!”

“Am not.” They were standing now, and Derek kept taking small step backwards.

“Are to.” Stiles stepped closer to Derek, who was scowling intensely.

“Am not.”

“Are to.” Stiles was practically breathing down Derek’s neck, he was so close.

“You’re such a child, Stiles.”

“Are not,” Stiles said. Derek glared. “I’m joking,” Stiles said. “God.”

Derek didn’t laugh. He just sighed, like the fact that the ridiculously good-looking and infuriating boy was in his apartment was such an inconvenience. Like he hadn’t been watching the door all week, _willing_ this to happen. Like he didn’t _love_ how unnecessarily close Stiles was standing.

Derek couldn’t think of anything to say.

“It’s okay,” he finally said.

“Huh?”

“I accept your apology, idiot.”

“Oh. Great.” Stiles was suddenly grinning and Derek felt like it was going to blind him. Why was he enjoying this so much? One thing was for sure: it was becoming harder and harder to be annoyed.

“It is okay?” Derek asked, “If I do this?”

He took another step toward Stiles, which meant that he practically crashed into the boy’s chest. Stiles was surprisingly solid, and cold. His cheeks were still flushed from the outside, Derek realized.

“Do what?” Stiles said. He wore a cheeky smile and his eyes were all lit up. “You can’t ask permission to do something and then not do anything, Derek.”

“Shut up and let me kiss you.”

That shut Stiles up. "Oh. Okay."

 

* * *

Their kiss wasn't as passionate as the other day. Derek took his time running his hands through Stiles' hair and down his back. Stiles let out a little moan, and both boys stifled a laugh.

They fell onto the couch in a tangle of legs and arms. Derek pulled his face away from Stiles so that he could stare at the other boy.

“I was supposed to bring movies,” Stiles said awkwardly.

“At least you didn’t bring roses,” Derek said.

“I thought about it,” Stiles admitted.

“Of course you did.” Derek rolled his eyes. “You just love to drive me crazy.”

“You love when I do.”

“True,” Derek shrugged, giving Stiles a quick kiss on the forehead before getting to his feet.

“Hey! Where are you going, Der?” Stiles asked. The werewolf scrunched up his forehead. “Bad nickname? I heard it when I said it.”

“I’m getting movies,” Derek said. “From Ms. Christmas across the hall.”

“You’re the best,” Stiles said and he didn’t even sound that sarcastic.

 

* * *

 

“Dereeekk,” Stiles whined. “Why can’t we make out more?”

“You’re distressed,” Derek said simply.

“As long as I’m not a damsel in distress,” Stiles frowned.

The corners of Derek’s mouth turned up slightly, and Stiles pretended he was smiling. They were back on the couch, and Stiles didn’t even have to lean in to kiss Derek. (It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that Derek was so kissable. God.)

“I don’t want to talk about it, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Stiles said.

“That is definitely not what I want,” Derek said. “I’d love to hear you shut up for a minute.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh, whatever. Which movie would you rather watch?” He threw a pile of Christmas movies at Derek, who caught them swiftly. (Stupid werewolves.)

“I told you, I haven’t seen any of them.”

“Okay.” Stiles thought for a minute. “Do you want to cry?”

“Why do you even have to ask?”

“So… crying.”

“No,” Derek said quickly. “No crying. Come on, Stiles. I’m a man.”

When he yawned, Stiles actually laughed. “So you are human!”

“Human?” Derek asked. “And why are you just realizing this now?”

“You’re tired. And you obviously want to watch a movie and cuddle.” Stiles ignored Derek’s scowl (a talent of his) and reached for Derek’s hand. “Which I’m good with, actually.”

“Actually?” Derek leaned in, just enough to torture Stiles with the smell of his minty breath and a hint of whatever shampoo he used (it smelled fruity). “You don’t want to make out any more?”

“I never said that,” Stiles said, and Derek gave him one of his special, dazzling, diamond smiles.

Stiles could practically feel himself melting.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the movie (the Grinch) finished, Stiles' head was in Derek's lap and Derek's hands were in Stiles' hair.

"Do ho do re," Derek was humming quietly as the characters on the TV sang, holding hands around the town Christmas tree.

"Shit," Stiles said. "I'm crying."

"Why the fuck are you crying?" Derek asked. He sounded almost mad, like he was going to beat up whoever had made Stiles cry. Which was, of course, Dr. Seuss and the part where the Grinch's heart tripled in size.

"I don't know," Stiles said instead. "Ignore me."

"I can't," Derek said and it was almost a growl. "I've never been able to ignore you, Stiles."

Stiles was smiling despite himself. "That's really sweet, Derek." He yawned and close his eyes. Derek ran his fingers through Stiles' hair, and it felt  _right_.

"Why did you come here?" Derek asked.

Stiles opened one eye. "Today? I wanted to see you. I thought I would do something that I wanted to, for once."

Derek kissed Stiles gently, right above his eyebrow, so lightly that Stiles wondered if he had imagined it.

"I wasn't your back-up plan?" Derek asked. "You after-date stop?"

Stiles sat up. "Are you trying to DTR with me, Derek?"

"Trying to  _what_?"

"Define the relationship."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a teenage girl."

"Stop being so jealous."

"So? Am I? The back-up plan?"

"No," Stiles shook his head furiously. "You're-- you're--" he sighed. "You're the always-good plan, Derek. You're my first choice, again and again."

"It's okay," Derek said.

"Huh?"

"I accept your apology. About the possessed thing, and last Tuesday." Derek rested his head on Stiles shoulder, like Stiles was the steady one. (He wasn't. He was a mess of always thinking about Derek and trying not to.) "I forgive you." He yawned.

Stiles was trying to keep his eyes open, so that he didn't have to stop looking at Derek, but he was just so tired (and he was pretty sure Derek had already fallen asleep). "Goodnight Derek," Stiles said sleepily. "Love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment!! Leave kudos!  
> My new year's resolution is to write more fic, hbu?


	7. things worse than Stalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Christmas Eve and cookies, Santa Claus and interventions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( it isn't that I'm anti-Stidia, I'm just anti anything that is anti-Derek .... okay continue on! ))

# * seven * things worse than Stalia

Malia and Stiles was apparently a thing. People accepted their relationship without a second thought, which made Stiles wonder why he had never even considered it before. (Other than the reason that he was gay and had been in love with Derek from the very beginning.)

They went out on more dates. He introduced her to his father, who seemed to like her as much as he was going to like any of Stiles’ girlfriends. (Girlfriend, Stiles corrected himself. He had already decided that she was going to be the last one.)

Scott was actually jealous, which Stiles found funny. He shouldn’t be jealous that Malia made googly-eyes at Stiles and tried to kiss him when he made the mistake of looking at her. (Malia should be jealous of Derek, and the afternoons when he said he had to study but instead went to the loft, knowing that not much studying would get done.)

There were things, though, that Scott should be jealous of. Things that Stiles couldn’t tell him, about the week that he had spent at his mother’s…. well, it was probably bigger than a mansion. She called it a palace, which seemed fitting considering the amount of thrones that she owned (which was pretty uncalled for, if you asked Stiles. No one needs to eat breakfast on a fucking throne).

Stiles’ mother acted like she couldn’t be more proud of him. Everyday she had him give her updates on the Malia situation, and when he lived with her, she would let him make the master list of groceries and alcohol and the dinner menu. They lived like royalty, but Stiles couldn’t help thinking that the king-size beds were not as comfortable as the bed at his dad’s. And his mother wasn’t filling the missing spot in his life that he thought she would.

She didn’t know how to be a mother. They had whole conversations where he didn’t say a word, and she just read his mind. She kept saying that he had to stop seeing Derek, but she could tell that he wouldn’t. (“And don’t you dare change my mind about that,” Stiles screamed.)

Stiles still wasn’t completely sure how the whole mind-control thing worked. He tried to ask Lydia to see the bestiary, but she got all mad because she hadn’t finished translating it and she was working her hardest, blah, blah, blah. He always tuned her out after she used more than three SAT words, so he wouldn’t get exhausted. He could ask his mom, but after that week, he hadn’t been in a hurry to get back. (The full list of things that he missed included the meals, the blankets, the thrones, the endless amount of rooms and the bar. The list of things he didn’t miss included his mother.)

Stiles had thought that having a girlfriend (even one that he didn’t really like) would be a great ego-booster. But every time that she did something sweet or told him how great a boyfriend he was, Stiles wondered if he was somehow controlling her with his mind. He was getting more and more convinced with every time that his mother told him (or got Charles to text him) that she was proud of him. (Stiles liked it better when Charles texted, because then he could spam him with inappropriate suggestions.)

Stiles had no idea what to call Derek, but he liked calling him his boyfriend (in his head, since there was no one he could tell). And having a not-really-boyfriend definitely trumped having an official-girlfriend.

Derek kept taking Stiles on road trips to towns that were just far enough away that they wouldn’t see anyone they knew, so that they could get ice cream and see a movie (which they only did to make out in the back of the theater like, well, teenagers).

 

 

* * *

 

Christmas music reminded Stiles of Derek (so did everything, but it shouldn't ruin a holiday). Christmas had always been Stiles' favorite holiday, because he and Scott always spent it together, trying to set up their parents. Mama McCall, as they all called her, always made too much food and they always wrapped up stupid little things so that they had more things to unwrap and then trade.

Christmas was a reminder of what was important. Family, friends that were basically family, and _Santa Claus_. (Not really.)

Okay, friends, family and Mama McCall's Christmas cookies. That sounded about right.

Christmas Eve was for eating cookies and laughing about when they used to believe in Santa. And this year, Scott added something new to the list: interventions.

When Stiles came back from the bathroom, he found his best friend staring at him with his best Alpha look.

“What?” Stiles said. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“This is an intervention,” Scott said. His mom was holding back a laugh and Stiles’ dad wouldn’t look up from his beer.

“What?” Stiles said again. “Are you serious?”

“Something is up, Stiles. I can tell.”

“Can you smell it?” Stiles stepped closer to his friend, who held up his hands in defense. “Can you smell it with your werewolf sense, Scott? Because we can’t all be werewolves, you know.”

“Are you mad at me?” Scott looked confused.

Stiles _felt_ confused. This was his best friend that he was yelling at. They spent Christmases together and suffered through year after year together. Maybe Stiles was just done suffering, done watching Scott get powers and win lacrosse games without trying. Stiles was done being the weak human who couldn’t do anything, who couldn’t get a girl without mind control. It was infuriating, now that he thought about. He and his dad had spent years suffering financially, suffering in every sense of the word.

And Stiles was done with it.

He felt rage in his cells, felt his hands curl into fists without meaning to.

“Stiles,” Scott said slowly, like he was a fucking child. “Let’s go in the other room.” They did. (Stiles had been going by the policy that after his dad lied to him for years, he didn’t deserve a son, and had therefore been ignoring him.)

“Your eyes seem to be darker,” Scott continued. “I’ve stopped asking you for advice about Allison and Isaac because you told me to cut out their eyes! I mean-- dude!”

“An eye for an eye,” Stiles said. “Yeah, I stand by that advice.”

Scott put a hand on Stiles’ arm. “Don’t. It’s ruthless and-- kind of evil, honestly.” Scott didn’t say what he was really thinking, that he had had enough of fighting with enemies and supernatural monsters without trying to fight his best friend.

And Stiles didn’t do what he really wanted to: punch Scott. The guy needed some kind of a lesson, not to mention Stiles felt like he was more of a match for the true Alpha. Stiles was not ordinary, and he was tired of being the only one who knew it.

“It’s my mom,” Stiles said. “She’s alive and I’ve been working for her. Pick your jaw up off the floor, Scott.”

“Sorry. But-- really? That’s great news!” A shadow passed Scott’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t allowed to. But she’s-- she calls herself the Avenger when no one is listening. Like the movie, yeah. But she says it seriously. I think she really believes that she gets revenge on other people. She is the head of some kind of system, I don’t really understand it, but I know that she does bad things.”

Scott didn’t understand why Stiles was smiling.

“She’s a villain,” Stiles said, flashing a full-out grin. “She lives in a palace and -get this- they do a Christmas present thing once a month because people send her all of this stuff, and she can buy whatever she wants.”

“Stiles,” Scott said. “That doesn’t sound that good, not if she’s doing bad things to people.”

Stiles waved a hand. “They aren’t innocent people. Don’t go all good-guy on me.”

“It’s not a _good-guy_ thing! It’s a _being-a-good-person_ thing.”

Stiles rolled his eyes sloppily. “We can’t all be angels!” he yelled. “Or, werewolf angels, I don’t know. We can’t all be good people like Scott McCall and his precious little pack! I can’t be a follower anymore.”

“So you want to be a leader? You don’t want to be in a pack? I never said that you had to be! You don’t have to help me fight bad guys, Stiles. You shouldn’t be in danger anyway.”

“You don’t get it!” Stiles yelled. “I can deal with danger! I can deal with more supernatural shit than I can name because, seriously, I cannot name all of the fucking creatures we have fought!”

Scott sighed. “I’m sorry. Why are we doing this on the night before Christmas?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who did the intervention.”

“I wanted to help,” Scott said. “I always just want to help.”

“I’m done with helping,” Stiles said. “I’m done with my dad not being able to catch bad guys and us rushing to kill ourselves to maybe catch bad guys. You should think about doing something else for a change.”

Scott shrugged. “Fine. I will. But you’re right; we shouldn’t be doing this _right now_. It’s almost Christmas, bro.”

Stiles nodded, and if they had been girls, they would have been hugging already.

The sentiment got across anyway, and they ended up laughing.

“Your dad looked pretty pissed when we left them alone together,” Scott said.

On cue, there was yelling from the living room. “Can you guys stop trying to set us up? It’s Christmas, for God’s sake.”

Stiles peered through the doorway at them. “Your mom is blushing, though.”

“Yesss,” Scott said. “High-five?” He wasn’t sure if Stiles was still mad at him.

“High-five,” Stiles agreed, and after they high-fived, Scott pulled him into a little side-hug.

“I love you, bro,” he mumbled.

“Same. Merry Christmas Eve.”

 

* * *

 

In the warm darkness of the room, Derek could almost pretend that he was being embraced.

It was Christmas Eve and he was alone. Which, of course, he had been for the past few years. He knew that he could have told Scott or someone and get the sympathy-invite, but the truth was that he hadn’t really minded being alone. It was fun to go to some all-inclusive resort and watch girls trying to flirt with him through tinted glasses, or to stay at home and get wasted without anyone lecturing him.

Being alone, Derek realized, only was a bad thing when there was someone you’d rather be with. It was a crush and the memories and remembering how Stiles felt, he realized, that kept him from buying a ticket to a beach somewhere. (It should be noted that the thought of a boy in his memories did not keep him from getting wasted.)

He ate all of the chocolate kisses that he had put in a bowl, because of course he was the only one there. He was trying to imagine what face Stiles made on Christmas morning, how happy he got when he would open a good present.

Derek didn’t remember calling Stiles, but the cell phone was soon pressed to his ear and it was ringing.

“Hello?” Derek said.

“Hey.” It was Stiles, sounding familiar and out of breath and, well, attractive.

“Did you call me?” Derek asked.

“I’m pretty sure that you called me, actually. Right after I thought that I wished you would. Wow,” he breathed, “did I make you call me?”

“I don’t know, Stiles.”

“That would be super cool. I’m impressed with myself.”

Derek chuckled. The heaviness that had been pressing down on him in the darkness before had lifted.

“Shit,” Stiles cursed all of a sudden.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. “Scott is trying to break into the bathroom.”

“Wait-- why are you in the bathroom?”

“I’m hiding from Scott,” he said, like it should be obvious. “The bathroom is the best place.” He raised his voice. “Scott, go away!”

“Dude, what are you doing in there?” Derek heard Scott’s voice say.

Derek was beyond rolling his eyes. He was beyond confused. He wasn’t sure what to feel, but he did keep thinking how cute it was that Stiles had wanted him to call so badly that he did.

“Stiles, who are you talking to?” Scott said.

“Derek,” Stiles whined. “Why can’t I be spending Christmas with you?”

“IT’S DEREK,” Scott yelled loudly (because there really is no other way).

“Shit shit shit,” Derek heard Stiles say. “He’s going to give me another intervention.”

Derek wasn’t even sad when Stiles hung up, because he hadn’t stopped smiling since Stiles had said that he wanted to spent Christmas with him. He wasn’t over it. He might never get over it and might spend the rest of his life grinning… which wouldn’t be a horrible thing, because Derek couldn’t even think of anything horrible at this point. All he could think was  _Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_.


	8. cue tears and evil laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles did not consider himself to be good at many things, but breaking up with someone was something that he was definitely not good at. (It was because he didn’t have practice; girls broke up with him, generally.)

# eight * cue tears and evil laughter

Stiles had yet to master the evil laugh. And the little cats that his mom kept around always made him sneeze. He never knew when he was being charming or using whatever mind powers he probably had, and to date, the worst thing he did was catfish a coyote.

But never the less, when Stiles looked in the mirror in the morning, he felt like he could command the attention of the whole room behind him. He walked with more purpose, and what Scott had said was true-- his eyes were darker. He liked it.

Say what you want about having evil powers, but Stiles never felt hopeless anymore.

He wasn’t lonely, either, because whenever he had had too much of Scott and his pack, he found himself at the palace or Derek’s loft. (He still hadn’t figured out what Derek did all day, but he was home _a lot_.)

Stiles’ mother had finally said that she loved him. It was probably mostly sarcasm, but that just showed how alike they were.

Stiles had gone to the palace after spending the whole afternoon with Malia. (He had honestly just wanted a nap, but his mother insisted on a full-blown feast.)

Stiles was lounging in a throne the way that he assumed a villain would, juggling an arrangement of cookies and a glass of champagne. He was talking about how whipped Malia was, and making bad jokes about New Years.

“I told her I’d see her next year and she all-but-freaked out. Her sense of humor is so bad, it’s painful.”

“But she likes you,” his mom said, like she needed confirmation.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well then. Shall we have port?”

Stiles had thought about explaining that he was a teenager, and that he should be drinking beer or something that would be more useful to a party (if he ever got invited to one). But he had realized that port was damn good (like wine but sweeter).

“Yes.”

Stiles’ mother (who still hadn’t told him her name but looked like a Victoria) poured him another small glass and said that she loved him.

“Wait, what? You mean it?”

The corner of her lips tilted up and it was still one of the biggest smiles he had ever seen her wear. “Of course. Stiles, you are my son. But even more than that, you are my only heir and my best sidekick. You are doing so well, in fact, that I have decided to let you pick a friend to help you. I am teaching you to be a leader, after all, not another follower.” She waved her hand. “God knows I have enough of those.”

Stiles couldn’t help feeling like he had just gotten a promotion at a job he didn’t know he had.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll think about who to choose.”

“Just make sure that you can trust them. I’m not going to clean up after your mess, and-- well, let’s just say that is something that I do not think you are ready for yet.”

Stiles just smiled blindly at her, already halfway through listing his friends.

 _Scott_. Could not possibly do anything that he considered to be ethically wrong. Also, he was just about the furthest thing from a follower, since he was a True Alpha and all that shit.

 _Lydia_. Likely to run to Scott and tell him everything. More than likely to make Stiles feel stupid. Screams too much.

 _Derek_. Very, very tempting. Stiles allowed himself to consider doing running from the cops with Derek, running hand in hand to the palace and . Then he stopped, because he would have to introduce Derek to his mom and she definitely knew things that they had done together. (Charles was instructed to not even look at Stiles and interaction was forbidden.) Derek also did have some sort of moral compass, and Stiles wasn’t sure his pointed to the same North as everyone else.

Except _Liam_. Liam could be perfect. So far, he had proven himself to be easily corrupted, usually confused, and just as strong as all of the other supernatural beings blessed with super strength.

“I have an idea,” Stiles told his mom.

“I hoped so,” she nodded. “Now, we are in the last stages of your first assignment.”

“Malia.”

“Yes.” She raised a single eyebrow. “I hope you haven’t gotten too attached to her. She is part of a bigger issue.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. So what do I do next?”

“Break up with her. Make sure she doesn’t go and run to her friends. I am having someone take her before she can tell anyone, and that way you will still be known as her boyfriend. Lower the suspicion.”

“Then why do I have to break up with her? I mean, I want to, but-- it seems-- not necessary?”

“The word is unnecessary, Stiles. You must end it because it will be easier to take her if she is at her lowest, and therefore less physically capable.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I can do it tomorrow.”

“It must be today.”

Stiles sighed. “Today, then.”

“Perfect.”

He smiled grimly. “Great.”

* * *

Derek was home. Stiles pretended to be surprised and Derek pretended to be happy to see him.

 _They were out of the honeymoon stage_ , Derek had realized. _And into the stage of constant-worry and intervention-planning_. Because, yes, he had called Scott and told him some of the things that he knew that Stiles had done in the past month. It was a long list, which included terrorizing a priest and his history teacher (both apparently “deserved it”).

Derek didn’t like a lot of things about his newly-dark-eyes boyfriend, but he had to admit that Stiles’ mother and the whole hostage thing really had started the relationship. It had also uncovered a whole world of hidden feelings and controlled lust.

They spent most Thursday nights together. Derek would let Stiles do homework for a while, and then start to bother him. (Or he would cook something that smelled good, which he learned drove Stiles crazy.) Most weeks, they would end up reminiscing, talking about past adventures and their many near-death experiences.

“God, you were so ripped during that whole thing,” Stiles would say. Derek would blush (as much as you’d expect a werewolf to be able to) and respond, “Whenever you came up with a plan, I had to remind myself that I wasn’t attracted to you.”

“You didn’t, but I did.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles did not consider himself to be good at many things, but breaking up with someone was something that he was definitely not good at. (It was because he didn’t have practice; girls broke up with him, generally.)

“Malia,” Stiles said across the table and she was grinning like an idiot. In this case, Stiles couldn’t help thinking that he was the idiot, for he had made Malia smile like this. He had made her happy and all the while he knew that this conversation was approaching like a animal sliding across ice.

Malia thought that what they had was going to last, and he had let her.

“Stiles,” she said back, rolling his name over her tongue like a waltz. “What’s up?”

They were at a lunch table. Stiles had made Scott order the others to go somewhere else. Malia was so happy to be alone with him, she was grinning. (Which scared Stiles, because with how she was licking her lips, she looked like she was going to eat him.)

“We need to break up,” Derek said, because it’s better to rip off a Band Aid quickly, right? There, he said it. He smiled slightly before he saw her face, which looked like he had just thrown a table at her. (Could were-coyotes cry? he wondered.)

“No we don’t,” Malia said. “Of course we don’t.” So she was going to fight him. And the mostly human boy was not about to beat up a were-coyote. (God, he hated breakups.) “Why would we?”

“This-- isn’t working out?” Stiles tried.

“It is,” Malia growled. “We are happy.”

“I’m not. But it’s not you, it’s me. Malia,” he said, taking her hand and looking into her eyes. “You are perfect. This has nothing to do with that.”

She looked exactly how Stiles felt (like someone on the verge of puking).

When Malia spoke again, it was in a calm, slow voice. “You asshole,” she said. “You absolute bastard.”

“I know,” Stiles muttered to himself.

“The pack isn’t going to believe that you had the nerve to do this, you fuker,” she said.

Well look who has picked up a vocabulary, Stiles thought.

“Don’t eat me,” he said.

She laughed slightly at that. Her shoulder were slumped, as if she couldn’t sit up straight, and Stiles wondered why seeing her like that felt worse than seeing her get mad at him.

“I should go,” he said when he realized that she was going anywhere.

“You should,” she mumbled, her head in her arms on the table.

Stiles tossed his backpack over one shoulder and started to walk away when Malia stopped him.

“Bye, Stiles,” she said. He stopped breathing for a second, because it sounded like she knew what was coming for her. But she couldn’t. No, that was impossible. She was just getting closure.

“Bye, Malia,” he responded before walking away. On the way to find Scott, he texted Derek two x’s and thanked God that he was gay.


End file.
